Chapter Ten
Lord Mark Rydell’s Bloomsbury residence
Nine in the evening
“This is impossible. He is going to hate me.”
Elspeth examined herself in the full-length mirror of the dressing room, looking for every possible flaw.
Her hair was far-too red, her freckles too bright.
Her night rail was too old, her feet too big, sticking out from beneath the beribboned hem like the ends of white rowing sculls.
She was too old, her breasts beginning to droop, her hips too wide.
“I am hideous.”
Behind her Sinclair sighed as she finished braiding her hair. “My lady, you are beautiful. It is not as if the man has never laid eyes on you.”
“Not like this he has not.”
Sinclair picked at the shoulders of the night rail, fluffing it a bit. “Trust me, he will not be evaluating you for flaws. This is something women do to ourselves. He will have something else entirely on his mind.”
Elspeth’s cheeks heated. “I suspect I am not entirely prepared for that either.”
“Let him worry about that.” Sinclair urged her to turn around. “Listen to me. You will go through that door, and nothing—and I mean nothing—will matter in that moment. You will see his eyes, and your world will change.”
“You have been through this, have you not, Mrs. Sinclair.”
Sinclair grinned. “I have. So I know whereof I speak.” She paused.
“Now. The staff have all taken the rest of the afternoon off, so you are on your own. Cook left the kettle heating on the stove. Low, and it’s full, so it should not boil dry until the morning.
But the water will be hot enough for tea later, and there is a tray on the kitchen table all ready for the water.
There are scones on a covered plate if you are hungry. ”
“After that breakfast, I doubt I will eat for days.”
Sinclair smile turned mischievous. “I would not count on that.” She went on.
“Cook and two of the kitchen maids will return before dawn, but the other servants will return later. I’m going back to Inmarsh House to finish your packing.
Send a hall boy to fetch me when you are ready for your bath. We are still departing on Tuesday?”
Elspeth nodded. “As far as I know, weather permitting.” She reached for Sinclair’s hand. “I am so glad you decided to come with us.”
“Perhaps I, too, need an adventure.”
“I think we all do.”
Sinclair kissed her cheek. “Now. Go. He is waiting.” And with that, Sinclair slipped from the dressing room, closing the door.
Elspeth turned, facing the opposite door, the one leading to her husband’s bedchamber, and took a deep breath.
Her husband.
The words still felt strange, in her mind and on her lips.
Properly, he had said, and it had taken almost a month for the contracts to be finalized and the banns read in church.
She had spent the time packing, writing letters, visiting the modiste, and walking out with Timothy in the park.
At first questions had come at them from every corner, but the viscount, who had taken the news with unexpected aplomb, had begun to pay suit to another woman within ten days.
He had announced his availability at Almack’s, telling anyone who would listen that at his age, he had no time to waste if he desired more children—a comment which had appalled the patronesses of Almack’s, and they had withdrawn his voucher for the season.
Her last visit to the modiste had been the past Tuesday, to finalize her wedding gown, a glorious creation of emerald-green silk with short, puffed sleeves.
A floral-patterned gauze of green and white overlay the skirt, with a wide ribbon at the waist. When he saw her in it early that morning at the cathedral, Timothy’s eyes gleamed as if he had just discovered Christmas meant presents galore, and the eagerness in his gaze that had caused Elspeth to feel heat rush through her every fiber.
That same expression had been turned toward her continually over the next few hours, making the wedding breakfast at Embleton House—with its much larger ballroom than at Inmarsh House—feel interminable.
Every few moments, she had wanted to flee, to rush from the assembly and find a carriage, a cab, anything that would take her way from all the people.
The event lasted until after three in the afternoon, after which she had returned to Inmarsh House to collect a few things and rest. Then she and Sinclair had arrived here—for this.
This moment.
This . . . now.
She took a deep breath and opened the dressing room door.
The bedchamber, quiet and dark, looked undisturbed, except for a low fire in the grate.
“Timothy?”
Silence.
Elspeth’s abdomen clenched, and her stomach roiled. Where is he? Has he left me already?
Suddenly the door from the hall burst open, and she yelped as Timothy rushed in, his banyan open and flying about, a small gold cylinder in his hand. His face glowed with joy, his smile radiant, as he seemed unaware that only his silk shirt covered his body.
“Elspeth! Come with me! You must see this!” He grabbed her hand, tugging her toward the door, then he stopped abrupt, looking her from braid to hem. “Dear God in heaven, you are gorgeous!” He blinked, then pulled on her arm again. “But you must come.”
Confused but enthralled by his glee, Elspeth raced to keep up with him, her bare feet padding heavily on the carpet as they climbed the servants’ stairs from the third floor, passing the fourth and charging down a short hallway on the fifth to the attic door.
Up yet another narrow flight of steps, the boards of the attic rough on her soles, until they reached a window, already propped open, letting in the chill air of the night.
Timothy finally paused, a wide grin still brightening his face. He dropped her hand. “I will go first, because I need to place this down safely.” He raised the hand still cradling the cylinder. “Then I will help you through.”
Then he stepped through the window as if he had done so all his life. He disappeared from view only seconds, then reappeared, holding out his hand. “Come with me.”
“We are going out on the roof.”
“Yes! You must see this!”
Feeling exposed and vulnerable with nothing but her night rail to cover her, Elspeth gathered up fabric and stepped over the windowsill and out onto the roof. The night air felt cool, clearing her head, although she soon caught a whiff of the river and the streets below.
London seldom smelled like a country meadow.
Even with Timothy tugging her hand, she stepped gingerly along an open space to where he had spread a thin mattress—much like that from a child’s trundle bed—out on the flat roof. Blankets and pillows created mounds around the edges, and in the center of one of the pillows lay the gold cylinder.
“What is all this?”
“A surprise. Brush your feet off and sit down.”
She did, flicking away the bits of dust and grime that had clung to her soles during their scamper upward.
He helped her settle, then reached for the cylinder.
Made from burnished gold, it appeared to be a large cup with a sloping top, almost like a Bavarian stein, although the top was flat.
Around the outside, a painted enamel ring depicted a bawdy-looking party, with joyous folks taking part in a lively dance.
“That’s exquisite.” She looked up at him. “But what is it?”
He pulled on the top, and an inner cylinder extended. “A telescope.” He waited, his face expectant.
Elspeth blinked, her own excitement beginning to build. “Truly? A personal telescope?”
Timothy bounced on his bum, like a small child.
“Yes! I ordered it from Switzerland before I left America and had it delivered here. I needed to take it back with me. To use it on the ship. I wanted to surprise you then.” He pointed upward.
“But the moon is waning. We will be able to see so much tonight.”
She followed his gaze and is pointing finger as he went on.
“See, there is Leo, in the south. See the reversed question mark?” He made the outline of the mark with his hand.
“And there, overhead, is Ursa Major, the Big Dipper.” He continued to outline the various clusters with his finger.
“There, the summer triangle, an asterism of Deneb, Altair, and Vega.” He rattled off more names in a way that made Elspeth’s head spin: Virgo, Corvus, Coma Berenices.
Finally, he pointed to a slightly brighter spot to the southwest. “See that one.”
“Yes.”
He held out the telescope to her. “Look at it through this.”
Elspeth took the cylinder, cradling it tentatively.
Timothy smiled. “While it is a precision instrument, it is not entirely fragile. I do not wish to drop it, but you do not have to treat it as if it were the finest crystal.”
Elspeth swallowed and lifted the telescope to her eye. And gasped. The clarity astonished her—and she realized the identity of the bright object. “It is red,” she whispered.
“Mars. God of war, blood red and ready for battle.”
Elspeth stopped breathing, completely absorbed by the details she took in. The variety of reds and the dark shadows, as if they might be continents.
“Elspeth?”
Magnificent. The nearest planet. As she had never seen it.
“Elspeth, my love, you must breathe.”
Elspeth giggled. Then, as she lowered the telescope and turned to Timothy, the giggle became a laugh as an unexpected elation raced through her. She handed him the telescope, then thrust both arms into the air with a squeal. “Yes!”
Timothy placed the telescope back on its pillow, sliding it to the edge of the mattress. “So you are pleased?”
Elspeth lowered her arms and took his hands, moving closer to him. “You are a splendid man. I have been so anxious about this night, I could barely breathe. Women hear a lot of stories about the first time, not all of them kind or encouraging. That men are impatient. Rough. That it will hurt—”
He squeezed her hands. “It does not have to.”